We got the notice yesterday around 8:30 am EST that the wife of a longtime friend of ours (we like her, too) was in labor. Exciting news considering he’s two years older at 40, and we’ve been parents for 13 years. Then this morning around 7:30 we got the news that little Isaac Gregory was born around 6:51 am CST, and both my husband and I have been struck with a consuming case of nostalgia.
As a matter of fact, I was talking to the mini me about it yesterday … childbirth, that is. He blanched, but was curious. He likes to hear stories of when he was a baby, and about my husband and I when we were younger. He said: “I don’t know how you did it mom. Just seems like it would’ve hurt real bad.” I told him the truth: “I had a great pregnancy and was lucky to not every be sick or out of commission. But I won’t lie to you–in those last two weeks I really started to panic because I knew I had to go through labor and begged your daddy to do it for me. It was like trying to suck a watermelon through a straw.” He laughed.
The days and weeks of a new baby have been passing through my memory like a movie. It’s so surreal to see it all again, so crisp and clear like it’s happening now. The fear I had about handling the baby; before my own child was born, the youngest kid I’d ever held was probably two. Thanks to my husband, who grew up on a street that had 13 kids born while he was in high school, for showing me I was doing it right. The panic I would feel in those initial weeks when I realized we were in charge of a new life. Holy cow. The sheer joy that filled my heart to bursting when I held my child in my arms. The contentment and happiness I felt through my years of nursing (what can I say, I was La Leche), feeling his little ribcage expanding with his breaths, and the flutter of his little heartbeat against my body.
Today was Peyton’s last Friday of seventh grade. With his year-round school schedule, his days are a little skewed from the norm, and when he finishes his last day on Thursday next week he’ll have just one week out before eighth grade starts. I foresee a small panic attack with that milestone, because his next first day of school will be high school. I don’t know how he continues to mature when I don’t age a day. Sigh … I love parenthood. I love my husband more and more everyday for contributing 50% to my status of motherhood. Yes, some days are challenging, but 98% of them are spectacular and exciting and interesting and humbling. My mother used to tell me: “I couldn’t have picked a better child if I had gone to the baby store.” And I tell it to Peyton. I mean it; I couldn’t have a better son.
So welcome to the world Isaac Gregory. You are the best thing to ever happen to your parents.